


Permission

by Anecdoche (so_psychso)



Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Aftercare, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Dom/sub, Face-Sitting, Gun play, Impact Play, Light Sadism, M/M, Masochism, Mild Blood, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Subspace, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex, trans jonny, well Some fluff Tim tries but Jonny's a masochistic bastard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:13:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24378538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/so_psychso/pseuds/Anecdoche
Summary: Jonny has been less than properly reciprocal during their time together; Tim seeks to amend that.
Relationships: Jonny d'Ville/Gunpowder Tim
Comments: 17
Kudos: 208





	Permission

**Author's Note:**

> Tim brainrot 24/7 babey, hope ya'll enjoy 
> 
> (I'm transmasc, and terms for Jonny are: cock, cunt, slit, entrance)
> 
> (also super not beta'd, i'm just throwing this in the void)

There’s blood on the sheets. Dolloped drips of thick, heady crimson—so dark they may as well be black—soaking into the mundane cream cotton threads and strewn in haphazard constellations like the night sky reversed. A splotch here, a trickle there. A smear. A fine mist. The specifics don’t matter, of course they don’t, but Tim can’t help admiring them anyway, if only to suspend reality for a second more. 

Two. 

Three. 

_Green, yellow, red_ , but the damn bastard didn’t _say_ , and so, of course, there’s goddamn blood on the sheets. Again. Because Jonny’s gone and bitten through his tongue, a bafflingly favored tactic of his rather than just _communicating_. He’ll offer himself up, body and all, but God forbid he brings a safeword to the table. Far fucking be it from him to establish and recognize his own limits.

And here Tim was thinking they’d been having a grand time of it all. A nice and nasty fuck. A quick lashing of Jonny’s wrists, shoving his face into the pillows, lavishing his cunt with tongue and teeth and fucking him harder, still. Only to resurface from the haze of their combined pleasure to find the body beneath his shivering and bleeding. 

“Jesus Christ,” Tim mutters, mostly to himself, although Jonny gives a faint twitch and whine in response. 

Tim ensures particular care, then, as he guides Jonny onto his back, stroking away the hair matted to his sweaty forehead.

“Tell me,” he says. No preamble, not _cruel_ , but just the right balance of commanding and kind that works best when Jonny’s had his defiance fucked out of him and is amenable to more civil conversation. 

(He’s had more than defiance taken, Tim is very aware of that, but he’s reluctantly hopeful the same basic principle applies.)

“Don’t know,” Jonny answers, surprisingly forthcoming after only a few seconds, and remarkably verbose given the state of his tongue.

It’s still not an answer, though, and the hand Tim’s pressed to his forehead turns abruptly mean, tangling in Jonny’s hair, tugging at a fistful. Tim knows what he needs—and the fact it wasn’t even a proper scene means he can afford some leeway with less… forgiving measures of obedience. Now, he just needs to know the extent of it fully.

“ _What_ have we talked about.”

“Fuck you,” Jonny mumbles, and then gasps, his eyes fluttering closed as Tim yanks his hair.

“No,” retorts Tim, plainly. “And, in fact? No more. Not until you learn how to behave. You know how this works. I’m not some sadistic outlet for you to use at your damn leisure. If you want me to hurt you, I will, and I will take _great_ pleasure in it, but you have to ask, you have to _mean_ it, and—goddammit, Jonny—you have to understand and use your boundaries.”

Jonny trembles, his eyes still closed, and his wicked teeth now worry his lower lip, oozing dark red lines to the surface, sure to split at any moment. Tim moves in, usurping Jonny’s efforts with his own, placing a lingering kiss to the wounds, old and new. 

“Unless you get your act together,” Tim murmurs, each syllable adorned in copper. “I’ll have no choice but to ensure _no_ harm comes to you.”

“You wouldn’t _dare_ ,” Jonny growls, still stuck in a daze, and hardly imposing given his position.

Which… Tim decides to take in his favor. Just barely, just his fingers, letting go of Jonny’s hair and brushing down the plane of his stomach, coming to a teasing halt, his index and middle flanking either side of Jonny’s dick. Massaging gently—just the way he knows Jonny _hates_ the intimacy of more than anything—he continues the assault of his ultimatum, relishing each crack that mars Jonny’s carefully constructed ruse.

“See, I think that’s what you secretly want,” Tim says, gathering a mix of his own cum and Jonny’s slick on his fingertips to ease the friction. “All this posturing, these tantrums. You’re not as clever as you think.

“In fact, you’re no better than some blushing bride on her wedding night,” he smirks.

Snapping open his eyes, Jonny leverages a seething glare, and Tim takes advantage of the moment to slot his grinning lips against the grimace of Jonny’s, forcibly silencing the mate’s building retort with a thrust of tongue and a moan, just for good measure.

“Do you _want_ me to make love to you?” He breathes into Jonny’s mouth. “Is that what this is all about?

“Go to hell,” Jonny spits, eyes squeezed shut again, teeth gnashing against each other, which just won’t do.

With a deftness that surprises even himself, Tim drags his fingers from their ministrations around Jonny’s swollen cock, up and up, till he’s prying apart Jonny’s lips, forcing his jaw slack.

“I’ll give you a week,” Tim says, stroking Jonny’s tongue, boldly aware he’s running the risk of getting his fingers bitten off. “You think about what you want, and when I come to collect, you’d best be _damn_ sure to tell me. Do you understand?”

“And what if I just kill you.”

This, hissed as Tim extricates his fingers, smearing saliva down Jonny’s chin, his throat.

“Sure,” Tim shrugs, entirely nonplussed. “I’ll still take what I’m owed, of course. But _how_ I do so depends on how _you_ learn to behave yourself.”

“I hate you,” Jonny says, with about as much conviction as a pistol boasting empty chambers—all bluster and no bullet, so Tim just sighs, pats his cheek, and sits up.

“What,” Jonny laughs wryly, propping up on his elbows as Tim amends the state of his trousers. “Not gonna finish a bloke after getting him riled up again?”

“I’m sure you’re more than capable,” Tim rebuffs, not even sparing a glance over his shoulder. 

A string of creative expletives follow him as he departs Jonny’s quarters, but all they earn is a smile and a promising heat building slowly in Tim’s stomach. Oh yes, Jonny will learn, and Tim will reap his reward quite nicely, indeed.

-

The promised week comes and goes, and not once do he and Jonny cross paths, something of a miracle given the Aurora isn’t terribly massive, and it rather amuses Tim because he’s made no effort to avoid Jonny, carrying on with business as usual. Which means Jonny’s the one putting on like a sulking child. Or perhaps he’s gearing up something especially unpleasant. Either/or, Tim knows he’ll have his way in time, only he hopes it’s a case of Jonny’s stubborn streak getting the better of him. Cleaning up his own entrails gets very tiresome. 

As it transpires, it’s the former that comes to pass, Jonny darkening his doorway at about half past whatever counts for midnight of the star they’re currently orbiting. It’s a red giant, prone to some truly spectacular flares, though on its own does a remarkable job casting Tim’s chambers in a perpetual vermilion glow through the port windows. 

Presently, it bathes Jonny in fiery streaks of copper that juxtapose starkly with the almost subdued approach he makes. Tim’s been sat on his bed, polishing a brace of pistols, but as Jonny shows his hand with so little hesitation, Tim promptly sets them aside, though not fully out of reach in case Jonny requires (or requests) other means of discipline.

“Made a decision, then?” Tim goads gently, smirking as he leans back on his elbows, his posture about as nonchalant as he dares to take around the man. 

He savors the many, vicious expressions that war across Jonny’s face, only for them to settle nicely into petulant acceptance. 

“Yes,” he grits out.

“And?”

Another crest of pride swells in Tim’s chest as Jonny’s visage just can’t seem to darken quite as much as he’d like.

“I—” Jonny’s tongue jumps out to soothe the slight tremble of his lower lip, and his gaze falls from Tim’s with a hush.

“I want you to hurt me,” he says at length, and Tim’s pulse takes a dive for the devious.

“Why,” he says, not wasting a second between Jonny’s admittance.

That stymies Jonny, confusion writ plain on his face as he regards Tim warily, eyes still not fully meeting.

“Why do you want me to hurt you,” Tim repeats, equal parts stern and inviting as he lifts off his elbows, propping them instead on his knees while folding his hands beneath his chin. “It’s not enough to say it, Jonny, I want you to tell me why. Why do you come to me when you’re at your worst? Why do you bite through your _fucking_ tongue instead of just _telling_ me what you need? Why can’t you take what’s given to you without turning it into some goddamn bloodbath.”

“I don’t need this,” Jonny growls, and makes to turn on his heel and stalk out, but he always underestimates Tim, how much swifter he is—a cat on his feet with as many lives to boot, and he’s fine wasting them against Jonny’s vitriol.

For all that, Tim gets him up against the nearest wall in record time and effort, seizing his wrists, pinning them each beside his head which _thunks_ carelessly against the cold metal, Jonny’s breath leaving him in a shocked and stuttered gasp, as if Tim’s actually caught him off guard. 

“No you don’t,” Tim agrees, Jonny’s prior statement hardly forgotten amidst the whirlwind of their sudden closeness. “You don’t _need_ me to fuck you, but you want it.”

“And what about you, huh?” Jonny spits. “Do you _really_ want to keep fucking me if it’s such a goddamn ordeal?”

Tim frowns severely, tightening his grip on Jonny’s wrists till he can feel the bones beneath the soft skin _creak_.

“What I _want_ ,” he says, “is for you to work with me. I want you to be open with me about this.”

“And _I_ want you to fuck me till I can’t walk,” Jonny retorts, struggling against Tim’s grasp, but not really putting much force into it. 

“You want to hurt?” Tim asks, calm as the lull before a crashing monsoon.

“ _Yes_ ,” Jonny seethes.

And Tim moves in, slotting his knee between Jonny’s legs and letting go one of his wrists to tangle that hand in Jonny’s hair, yanking _hard_ to expose the column of his throat. 

“Then let me hurt you on _our_ terms,” he murmurs, lavishing the skin beneath Jonny’s jaw with not-quite-kisses that he intends to make bruises by the end of the night. “Not yours, not mine, you’re going to tell me exactly what you want, and that’s what I’ll give to you. No more, no less, unless you _ask_.”

“Y-you mean unless I beg,” Jonny manages, snarky as ever until Tim gets his teeth around his jugular, then the tone changes very much indeed.

“If you like,” Tim breathes, once he’s applied a significant enough bruise.

Nuzzling upwards, he traces the straining muscles of Jonny’s throat all the way to his ear, and spares a dangerous second to nibble fondly the thin skin there, relishing the shiver that arcs through Jonny’s frame.

“Now,” Tim smiles, tracing his lips around the shell of Jonny’s ear, “what was that about fucking you till you can’t walk?”

For all the height and muscle Tim has on the man, Jonny does occasionally get the better of even the more hulking members of the crew. As such, it both does and does not surprise Tim when he finds himself being steered backwards and shoved onto his bed, just narrowly missing cracking his head on the pistols, but that’s about as much awareness he’s afforded before Jonny’s on top of him, straddling his hips.

“Don’t push your luck, love,” Tim manages, swallowing a groan as Jonny grinds down over the outline of his growing erection. 

“Or what,” Jonny says, redoubling his efforts, though his confidence is in vain.

With terrific deftness, Tim reverses their positions, slamming Jonny back into the mattress and bracing his forearm against the man’s trachea, thrusting his knee back between Jonny’s thighs for good measure.

“Or I might just give you exactly what you want,” Tim promises, and dives down to devour Jonny’s responding curses, forcing his tongue between Jonny’s teeth till his mouth is nothing but a pliant, slick mess for Tim’s perusal.

“Do it, then,” Jonny gets out between the slide of their tongues, hands curling in the front of Tim’s shirt, nearly tearing it.

“Do what,” Tim teases, returning to his assault of Jonny’s neck. He gets a delicate string of three bruises across Jonny’s clavicle before a _mean_ burst of pain judders through his right cheekbone, and he falters to the side, eyes wide.

“You fuckin— _really_?” He winces, prodding at the tender flesh now surely swelling with red and purple.

Jonny merely smirks as he uncurls his fist. 

“Oh you are _asking_ for it,” Tim warns, a cruel sneer splitting his own mouth, and he tackles Jonny back again, his hand around Jonny’s throat, barely squeezing but the angle is _very_ promising.

“Off,” he commands, nodding downwards to indicate Jonny’s trousers.

“Make me,” Jonny leers, and Tim stalls for a moment, assessing the man beneath him, searching for any tells or broken limits.

When he comes up moot, the fire in his chest blooms steadily outward, licking down towards his stomach, and lower. In an instant, he’s grabbed one of the nearby pistols and shoved the muzzle into the soft flesh where Jonny’s jaw meets his ear.

“ _Off_ ,” he says again, with as much malice as he can spare the single syllable, the click of the gun’s safety ringing out for punctuation. 

Really, it’s a waste of breath, Jonny’s pupils blowing so wide as to be black holes in his head, and Tim leverages backwards, sitting on his heels, carefully gauging the effect as he drags the gun across Jonny’s throat. 

Wordlessly, Jonny complies, his movements slow and deliberate, the efforts of someone very aware of the effect they can still make while halfway consumed in their own oblivion. And Jonny does look very lovely when he wants to, such that Tim’s hardly ashamed for letting his attention wander, drinking in the sight of those too-soft hands undoing belt, button, zip, till he’s laying half exposed with one leg propped up and the other fallen to the side, exposing him shamelessly. Tim continues watching with no small amount of amusement as Jonny’s right hand moves inward, stroking through dark curls to the glistening, pink jut of his already tender cock. 

“Ah-ah,” Tim admonishes gently, digging the gun into Jonny’s neck. “Did I say you could touch yourself?”

Jonny glares but removes his hand, still saying nothing.

“Good lad,” Tim praises, and before Jonny can muster whatever flimsy retort about that, Tim kisses him, slow and appraising.

“What will you have for your reward, then,” he says. “Blood? Or bruises.”

“Bruises,” Jonny answers promptly.

Tim is just as fast, falling into their rhythm easily.

“Where.”

Jonny does not reply, which, of course that’s more than fine, Tim will just need to use more explicit terms to get his answer.

“Here?” He splays his hand across Jonny’s throat, and when he receives no affirmation, Jonny’s chest.

Still no.

He goes lower, lower, till his knuckles brush between Jonny’s thighs and the man gasps, shudders, and nods.

“Really, love?” Tim derides, tracing patterns with his thumb but never quite touching. “You’d have me hurt your pretty cunt?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Jonny rasps, eyes squeezing shut.

“I’ll need you to say it,” Tim warns, threatening to draw his hand away.

“Fucking _prick_.”

To which Tim responds with almost rehearsed precision. Letting go of the pistol, he draws that hand over Jonny’s mouth, simultaneously dipping his other hand lower until his fingers draw slick over Jonny’s slit. And then in, Tim slipping two inside the frustrating man and smiling warmly as Jonny’s eyes snap open again and he arches off the bed.

“Shh, there we are,” Tim murmurs, and dares plant a lingering kiss on his brow.

“It’s simple maths, Jonny,” he explains, “equals and opposites. I just have to assume _this_ —” he curls his fingers cruelly, wrenching a muted cry, “—is what you actually want.

“Unless, of course, I’m just making assumptions,” Tim continues, moving his lips to Jonny’s temple. “But you are _soaking_ wet.”

He adds a third finger to drive the point home, and Jonny sobs so loudly his teeth nearly eclipse Tim’s hand, the sounds reverberating against his skin.

“ _If you’ll only tell me_ ,” Tim murmurs, stroking deeper into the slick heat of Jonny’s cunt, feeling as he winds tighter and tighter toward the brink Tim intends to throw him over as many times as he can endure tonight.

Until the broken whisper comes—” _Please, hurt me_.”—and, well, sometimes he is a man of mercy.

Immediately, Tim withdraws his fingers, pulling back to look Jonny in the eye as he does. There’s a latent mania mingling with the glazed over stare, and for the briefest second, Tim lets himself swim in its complicated, lovely currents—all tumult and want and need and _hate_ writhing as one in a gaze darker and deader than a shark’s. 

Then the reverence transpires, and a mania all Tim’s own usurps his awe. With a decisive angle and speed, he brings his hand down, striking just _so_ against Jonny’s cock with the pads of his fingers.

Jonny _howls_ , arcing off the bed, his back curling in, his head tossing, a split-second contortion that leaves his own hands tearing into the sheets and his pretty mouth begging for more.

To the litany of “ _A_ _gain, please._ ” Tim readily obliges, landing three more successive strikes that leave Jonny’s legs falling wider and wider open, his cunt stinging hot beneath Tim’s careful blows, red and pink and so inviting the mere sight makes Tim’s jaw ache.

“See, love?” He breathes, almost as hard as Jonny pants. “All you need to do is ask.”

Jonny manages a garbled moan as Tim strikes him again. And again. There’s no rhythm because none of the sounds Jonny makes are the same, not with how Tim intersperses his blows with a few soothing strokes, a pinch, a mean, _mean_ scrape of his thumbnail. When he thinks Jonny’s had enough on that front, he gravitates outwards, till Jonny’s inner thighs bloom the same shade of red as his cunt—the flush across his face and neck, notwithstanding.

Finding it impossible not to comment in some capacity, Tim murmurs a strained “ _Gorgeous_ ,” before insinuating himself over Jonny’s prone form, this time gathering the latter’s wrists over his head. He leaves it up to Jonny’s fucked out discretion what to make of the knee Tim keeps between his legs, and a triumphant swell of gratification fills Tim to the corners of his grinning mouth as Jonny eagerly bears down against it, quite soaking through Tim’s trouser leg.

“You know,” he comments idly, letting Jonny seek his fill of friction and pressure before securing his hand back beneath Jonny’s jaw, this time with a _definite_ intent to cut each inhale just a little too short. “A less forgiving man would gut you for less.”

“No doubt you’ve a _very_ thorough means of evisceration in mind for me,” Jonny gripes back, ever eager to waste so much of his precious air on snark.

“Maybe,” Tim obliges. 

“Though,” and because he is far too terribly showy for his own good, Tim simply _must_ sweep down again and paint his words in demure kisses over Jonny’s slack and gasping mouth. “I’m of half a mind to see if you’ll take my fist, instead, love.”

“Y-yellow,” comes the staggered reply, and Tim promptly withdraws, more shocked by the word itself than its translation, though that does catch up to him all the same.

“Jonny,” he starts, his hand still around the man’s throat, though lax enough to encourage a response.

“I…” Jonny breathes, heavy and deep, all the while staring up at the ceiling. 

“Yes,” he finally says, and Tim blinks.

“Yes?”

“Yes,” Jonny echoes, and looks at him. “I want… yes.”

“Oh… oh, love,” Tim exhales, and can taste the theatrics of exasperation on Jonny’s tongue as he kisses him. 

“That’s… well, I think we’ll have to get you prepared first.”

To which Jonny responds by blushing furiously, letting his head fall back heavily onto the mattress. 

“I _hate_ you,” he mutters.

“And I you, Jonny-dear, but only one of us just admitted he wants my fist in his cunt so—”

“You want me to red-light this, Tim?” Jonny spits, propping himself on his elbows and glowering. “Cuz that’s the bloody route your headed f’you keep it up.”

“Is that what you need?” Tim rebuffs, unfazed by the threat of tantrum. He was very clear about what this scene means for the two of them, and he will not be swayed from his principles.

“I—that’s not—I didn’t _say_ that,” Jonny tries.

“Except you just did, love,” Tim points out.

“ _Stop_ calling me that.”

Which ignites a dangerous flame of pleasure in Tim’s gut, and he lets it unfurl, curling smoke like a wicked smile.

“What—love?” He asks innocently.

Taking up arms, again, he pushes the mouth of his favored pistol square in the center of Jonny’s sternum.

“I could call you something else,” he says, applying enough pressure such that Jonny’s elbows give, “if you’d like.”

Keeping the gun poised between Jonny’s ribs, Tim adopts an almost scholarly air as he drones on, “I have to say I’m fond of more docile monikers but… I’m sure I could indulge you.

“My pretty whore,” he smirks, the left side of his mouth ticking up mischievously. 

Which earns him a soft groan from Jonny. _Not_ good for his ego, that. Either of them, in fact, though Tim’s the only one in any position to wield the result, and he’s never one to waste an opening.

“You’re just too lovely,” he continues, moving in to mouth at Jonny’s collar, the pistol falling aside, momentarily forgotten. “Such an eager _bitch_. Just need to be filled, don’t you? Mounted and fucked till you’re finally satisfied.”

“ _Jesus f-fucking_ —” Jonny starts, the curses low in his throat, but they tangle up in a delicious moan as Tim gets his fingers back between Jonny’s legs, rolling his cock between thumb and index.

“There we are,” Tim soothes, kissing and licking at the raw patch of skin he’s worried to an absolute mess of burgeoning scarlet at the base of Jonny’s neck. “Just let me take care of you.”

For the next few seconds, a balm of bliss fills the room, Jonny laying helplessly fucked out beneath Tim as the latter does with the mate what he wants. Till Jonny’s a pupils-blown-wide mess of panting and groans, his cunt hot and throbbing around three of Tim’s fingers, his cock jutting hard against Tim’s thumb.

“Beautiful, darling,” Tim sighs, slotting his mouth against Jonny’s as he drives his fingers in _deep_.

The man barely shivers, hardly even breathes.

“Color?” Tim inquires softly.

“ _Green_ ,” Jonny exhales. 

For his obedience, Tim rewards him with another _perfectly_ angled thrust of his fingers.

“Good boy.”

“Fu- _uck_ you,” Jonny manages, but there’s entirely too little vitriol, and Tim just grins.

“Are you ready for me then, love?” He asks, stroking Jonny’s cheek with his free hand, petting down the column of his throat. “Gonna show me how good you can be? How much you can take?”

Already anticipating the answer, Tim tests a fourth finger at Jonny’s entrance, gauging the mate’s reaction with implacable fondness. His composure, though usually a thing of steel and iron, flags abruptly as Jonny’s eyes flutter and a meek little keen limps past his lips. 

And suddenly, Tim’s trousers are _far_ too tight—have been so, obviously, but he prides himself on attending to his partners, first—and the whole ordeal of getting Jonny speared on his fist rather pales to simply fucking him long and slow with _torturous_ intimacy. Jonny always did have a scoff or two to say about missionary, but come _on_. He’s right bloody _there_ for the taking… 

But Tim is a man of his word, and Jonny is soaking wet, his body begging for it.

It still takes a remarkable amount of coaxing and praise and kisses and bites to work him open enough for four fingers and the tip of Tim’s thumb. 

“ _Fuck fu-u-uck_ ,” is about as coherent as Jonny can be in that instant, arms strewn above his head, fists wringing the color out of themselves as they tangle in the sheets.

“Tell me,” Tim pants, rutting shamelessly against Jonny’s thigh as he flexes his fingers.

“Green, _green_ , fucking _green,_ Christ, Tim, just—”

And then his back does that _gorgeous_ little arch, his cunt tightening and spasming as Tim curls his fingers in such precise rhythms. With a bitten off gasp, Jonny rides the waves of his climax, and Tim watches, enraptured by the man’s pleasure, how every inch of him seems to go lax, his mouth hanging open around countless exhales, his chest and hips trembling, his hands searching helplessly for anything more substantial than the bedclothes for purchase. As he comes down, they find that anchor in the front of Tim’s shirt, and Tim is more than happy to allow himself to be hauled in, his mouth pried open by a searching tongue and mean, eager teeth.

“ _F’you don’t fuck me in the next two seconds_ —” Jonny mutters, which is a funny thing to say to the man who just had four and a half fingers inside you, but Jonny has never been the most clever when it comes to sex, and his first orgasm always brings out a less discerning side to his already one track mind. 

“Thought you wanted me to hurt you, love,” Tim rebuffs gently, cuffing the mate beneath his chin and grinning at the glare he receives.

“Only I’m afraid,” he continues, dragging the pads of his fingers along Jonny’s jawline, halting his thumb just beneath Jonny’s lip, “that you can’t have both.”

“I don’t _care_ ,” Jonny snarls, his tone threatening another retort, but Tim is faster, gets his thumb between Jonny’s teeth and presses down _hard_ , securing Jonny’s mouth open.

“Well _I_ do,” Tim says, rubbing his thumb over Jonny’s tongue. “I care very, _very_ much about you, and I know what you want, but that’s not what this is about.”

Kissing the corner of Jonny’s slack mouth, Tim moves his other hand back between the man’s legs, just barely touching.

“This is about what you _need_ ,” he murmurs against Jonny’s cheek. “So you think about what that means for you, okay?”

He removes his thumb, and Jonny swallows thickly. That he keeps his mouth shut after is… promising, to say the least, and Tim waits with infinite patience, nuzzling at the heated skin just beneath Jonny’s ear. It’s partly to distract from the nigh unbearable pressure between his own legs, Jonny’s muscled leg enticingly pressed against his cock, but the moment is too soft for such carnalities, Jonny’s answer far more important to Tim than chasing a second or two of relief.

Luckily, he’s not kept waiting long, and finally Jonny seems to cave with a long, shuddering exhale.

“Yes?” Tim says, as much an inquiry as an acknowledgement of Jonny’s vulnerability. 

“I need you inside me,” Jonny answers, hushed and grating and _difficult_ but still so much better than he’s been. “Need you to-to fuck me till I can’t think, I—need you.

“ _Please_.”

This, said as Jonny turns on his side, meeting Tim face to face and holding his gaze for an excruciating span of seconds. It hurts to see him so nakedly, but it would hurt greater still for Tim to turn away, so he weathers the openness of Jonny’s stark pleading, waiting for whoever might be bold enough to break the spell to do so. 

Ultimately, it’s Jonny. Of course. It couldn’t have been any other way. This is for _him_ , so Tim doesn’t even register at first the hand that goes to his chest, open palmed and careful at first. Until a heavy pressure sends him falling back onto the mattress much inspired of the way he’s had Jonny laid out for him, and the mate wastes no time in getting his legs astride Tim’s torso, grinding his wet cunt along the outline of Tim’s cock through his trousers.

“Cheeky little—” Tim starts, but Jonny silences him with a hand to his throat and his lips to Tim’s, stealing every scrap of air Tim had left in him till he’s squirming beneath Jonny for quite a different reason altogether.

“Let me ride you,” he growls, when he lets up his assault and permits Tim a gasp and cough.

There’s a lot Tim could say to that, a whole armory of clever quips just to knock Jonny down a few pegs, but the game’s been out of his hands for a while, now, and Jonny has been so awfully obedient… 

So instead of some wry remark, he seizes Jonny by the hips and rolls his own _up_ against the mate, earning a shrill hiss.

“By all means, love,” Tim says, and doesn’t let go of Jonny for a moment.

Not as he fumbles with Tim’s belt and fly. Not as he rucks down his trousers and palms roughly at his cock. Not as he lines himself up and sinks down fully, seating himself on Tim with a fluidity that’s frankly exhilarating partly because Tim knows it’s going to take him a full minute to recover from that, alone, and isn’t that just _precious_. 

“Good boy,” is all he’s able to mutter, though, digging his fingernails into Jonny’s thighs, soothing the marks away, only to stamp them in harder the next time round.

“Still f-fucking awful,” Jonny stammers, twitching in Tim’s lap.

“Good little slut?” Tim tries, and gets a single, hearty laugh in before Jonny gets his hand back round his throat.

“Nmm,” Tim groans and lets his head fall back, rolling his hips and savoring the sounds Jonny makes as a result.

He’s scorching hot inside, all wet and tight—always such a perfect fit, and the added thrill of inadequate air is _really_ doing it for him, his stuttering pulse racing to his cock. 

“Like that, do you?”

This, heard from what feels like a thousand miles away, but Jonny gives a _delicious_ buck forward, rather successfully snapping Tim back to the present, even if he’s choking for enough breath by which to admire the blistering, stuttering moment.

“You’re incredible,” he manages to gasp out, which has Jonny growling against his lips, his cunt squeezing around Tim, draining him of every ounce of pleasure.

“Don’t get bloody sentimental on me,” Jonny accuses.

He leans back enough for Tim to pull a ragged inhale, only to surge forward again, repeating the action in time with the movements of his hips till all Tim knows is _can’t-breathe-so-tight-so-good_.

Somewhere through the haze, as Tim stumbles precariously toward his peak, Jonny replaces his hand with his mouth, covering Tim’s throat and clavicle in an array of stinging pressure points. They chart a course up, up, till Jonny’s mouth is gasping against Tim’s own, and he’s moving so, _so_ slowly, languid as a riptide in Tim’s lap, and he can’t take it, he can’t, he—

“ _Come for me_ ,” Jonny murmurs, and Tim tastes white, static and iron as he bites down on Jonny’s lower lip, keening through a dozen spasms all soft and wet and messy and _good_. So _fucking_ good it feels as though his stomach might just break in two for how he curls up against the man on top of him. 

“Holy fucking shit,” he rasps, nerves alight with unremitting twitches and twinges as Jonny writhes forward, back, still chasing his own climax.

“J-Jonny, love, please st—ah! _Ah_!”

Tim arches like he might just snap his spine, anything to fend off the bursts of overstimulation as Jonny keeps milking his cock.

“What’s the matter, _love_?” Jonny derides. “S’it hurt or something?”

“Get _over_ here,” Tim growls, husky and dark and permitting absolutely _zero_ leeway for refusal, and he grabs at Jonny’s bare hips, digging his nails in with the express intent to draw blood.

Enthralled—because he always fucking _is_ when Tim puts his foot down—Jonny pulls off of his cock, torturously slow and obscene to an unutterable degree, a thick stream of Tim’s cum dripping from his cunt and coating his inner thighs.

“Fucking bastard,” Tim hisses, but coaxes him close, anyway, eager to get his mouth on the man, make him a mess, too.

“I believe,” Jonny snarks, “that was the point of this little experiment, yes.”

But he’s a victim to himself, all the same, eagerly shuffling forward till his knees bracket Tim’s head, and he sinks down onto Tim’s waiting tongue with a sound about as near to rapturous satisfaction as Tim’s ever heard from that beautiful, brutal mouth.

He follows it up with an “ _Oh, fuck_ ,” as Tim gets to work, swirling his tongue around Jonny’s cock, surprisingly thrilled at the taste of his own cum mixed with Jonny’s arousal. It’s filthy as all hell, Jonny arching over his tongue in measured movements, and the slick sounds combined with his moans, not to mention the rhythmic _creak_ of the bed springs… it’s almost enough to get Tim at half mast again. 

As luck (and stamina) would have it, Jonny comes before that option presents a real threat to Tim’s aching body, the mate stilling atop him and trembling once, twice, and from Tim’s vantage point he watches Jonny bow backwards, a portrait of ecstasy as Tim savors him through the aftershocks.

“ _Fucking_ bastard,” Jonny echoes as he lets Tim guide him aside, sprawling out on his back and pulling deep, rolling breaths. 

Tim, similarly light headed, gets about as far as propping his cheek in his hand and grinning down at Jonny.

“Like you said, kinda the point.”

“Shut up.”

Tim does, but only so he can administer a messy kiss. 

“Feeling better, then?” He asks a moment later, when his heart rate has come down to a more amenable pace.

“I feel like I’ve been split in half,” Jonny answers, wincing as he attempts to shift into a more comfortable position.

“Hey, whoa,” Tim reaches out to place a hand on Jonny’s naval, “careful there.”

“Don’t get all sentimental on me,” Jonny spits, weakly batting away Tim’s hand, though gives up the ghost a second later and just… deflates. 

Altogether, it’s kind of a funny scene, but it did get a bit intense there, and this _was_ for Jonny’s benefit, so Tim can’t just… _not_ check in.

He demonstrates as much, helping Jonny find a more comfortable position, which equates to a pillow behind his head and Tim’s index and middle fingers back between his legs, stroking soothing circles against his cock. 

“You were so good,” he murmurs, as Jonny’s eyes flutter shut and his breathing evens out. “Couldn’t have asked for more.”

“Mn… could have.”

To which Tim laughs and presses a kiss to Jonny’s cheek. 

“Only if _you’d_ have asked, love.”

“Yellow,” Jonny murmurs, and Tim halts his ministrations.

“Hm?”

“If I catch you calling me that in front of the crew,” Jonny says, his eyes still shut, his mouth still slack with remembered pleasure, “I will throw you out the airlock.”

Tim laughs at that, full and hearty, and even Jonny grins. Just a bit. Just enough. 

And Tim goes back to soothing him, kissing him, saying terribly saccharine things that will surely earn him a bullet between the lips before the night is through, but he hasn’t a care for that at all. All that matters is that Jonny is here, sated, safe and beautifully fucked out. And there’s no blood upon the sheets, this time, not even from the marks Tim left on Jonny’s hips. 

No, the only red is what blooms in through the port windows, the red giant throwing a quite spectacular flare into the inky void around the ship. And as Jonny goes utterly boneless, as Tim strokes him just shy of _enough_ , the room is bathed in scarlet, and the two men fairly glow.

**Author's Note:**

> lmk if you liked, kings, mechs porn might be the only thing I'm capable of creating atm so yee and dare I say haw <3
> 
> Also, if you want to request something, please feel free to shoot a message over to my [tumblr](https://master-fiber.tumblr.com/)!


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